The Fire in the Ice
by amongthewinged
Summary: One-shot, concerning the forging of Ice.


I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire

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A cold current moved through the empty streets, stirring the stillness no more than the quiet shuffling of the watchful soldiers. They lined the ramparts, eyes unable to move away from the snow-covered landscape in front of them. Nothing had stirred for hours, but that did nothing to banish the deeply-rooted fear.

The only sound that dared to break the still silence was a sharp, rhythmic ringing. The winter wind stirred, disturbed that some living creature dared to upset it's perfection. It roared down the street, seeking the source of the sound, and came to a screeching stop at the threshold. A massive wall of heat stopped it cold. The wind whirled outside then screamed away, snubbed.

The inside of the impossibly warm room was dimly lit, the only source of light the forge in the middle of the crowded chamber. The flames danced in the eyes of the black beast that crouched next to it. Haunches on the ground, tail wrapped around lethal hind talons, the dragon had its claws nestled dangerously close to the embers. A long, sharp snout rested on the claws, slit-pupil eyes never left the smith. Occasionally it would lift it's muzzle and breathe a stream of fire onto the embers, keeping the heat just on the edge of unbearable.

The flames didn't bother the smith. Despite the bitterly cold night, the smith was stripped down to breaches and a leather apron. Corded muscles, testament to years of crafting, clenched and moved under pale skin that was striped with burns. Sweat had matted the smith's short white hair into spikes.

One hand gripped the cloth-wrapped hilt of a sword submerged in the flames, the other flexed around the handle of a massive broad-headed hammer. The sword came out of the flames, glowing as bright as the summer sun. The smith raised the hammer and brought it slamming down. The impact sent sparks in every direction. One landed on the snout of the black dragon. The creature absently snaked out a long tongue and swept the spark into its mouth without taking its eyes off of the fire. The smith's unnaturally light eyes never left the glowing blade.

Screams rent the air, followed by the ringing crash of swords. There was a rush as fire ignited along the ramparts. The smith could identify the precise moment that the screams changed from battle cries to screams of fear.

"Lady Valerys!" Someone called. A willowy youth slid across the ice in front of the smithy and crashed into the door frame. "The Others. They broke through the gates!" He gasped.

Valerys let the hammer fall, then slid the blade back into the fire. As she did, she raised her eyes and looked into the corner. A white pile shifted, firelight glinting off of moving scales as the creature unwound. An eye the size of her fist became visible, a slit pupil narrowed.

Only a look passed between woman and beast. The dragon surged to its feet, rising to the height of a horse, and lunged out the door. The runner scrambled out of the way.

"Where did it go?" He asked, trying to peer through the whirling snow after the ice-colored dragon.

"To wake the others." Valyers voice was low, roughened by years of breathing in heat and smoke. She pulled the sword out of the forge once more and rested the blade against the massive anvil. The hammer rose over her head and crashed down, the same speed as it had before, unhurried.

"There are more, Lady?" The runner asked, sidling into the warmth of the forge.

Valerys grunted noncommittally, hammer flattening the edge of the blade, folding layers of glowing steel into themselves. All her attention was focused on the sword as she ignored the chatter of the runner and the screams of battle. She had been working on this without pause since the previous sunrise. Or, at least, she thought it was the previous sunrise. Had it been two mornings and one night, or three mornings and two nights? It was not important; once the forging had begun, it had to be seen through to the end, without pause. To halt the flow of energy that wound through the smithy would be to allow weakness to enter the blade.

As absorbed as she was, she knew the instant winter set foot in the smithy. Cold air curled against her skin, and the runner stopped babbling with a gentle sigh of escaped breath. The black dragon looked away from the fire, locking onto something behind her.

Valerys slid the sword back into the fire, waiting. The cold behind her grew. White moved in the dragon's red eyes.

She whirled around, her newest creation swinging through the air in a brilliant arc. The White Walker's head slid to the side, thudding to the ground next to the lifeless body of the runner. Valerys grabbed the massive hilt of the broadsword with both hands, whipped it above her head and brought it down with all her strength. The hot sword slid through the Walker's body with no more resistance than if it was cutting through water. The two halves of the Walker burst into flame, set alight by the hot metal.

The runner opened white eyes. Valerys nodded to the dragon. The size of a large wolf, the baby dragon had jaws large enough to completely fasten around the runner's throat. The dragon wrenched its head, ripping through the runner's spine. The body collapsed back to the ground.

Valerys strode out into the street, glowing broadsword in both hands. An Other glided at her, dressed in the clothes of the guard, skin still flushed with life. Valerys slammed her foot into its chest, just below the gaping hole where its heart had been. The Other stumbled back from the force of her kick, landing against one of the massive snowdrifts that littered the street. Valerys followed it down with the sword, plunging the broadsword through the Walker and deep into the ice. Steam exploded up around her.

She braced her foot against the ice and pulled the blade out, raising the broadsword high. Three feet long, it had cooled to an unusual smoky silvery-blue color. The double edge was razor sharp, glinting in the chaotic light.

"It is done!" She breathed. "My greatest creation."

"Valerys!" Someone cried her name. "Behind you."

She heard a roar and saw the black dragon pounce past her. The Walker behind her died as quietly as it moved.

"Forged from fire!" She cried. "Wetted by blood and birthed from the biting cold! A blade from the edge of the world, created to stand against the flow of time! I name thee… Ice!" She hissed the name.

A deep cry came from her right. She turned and saw a large warrior stumble out of the blizzard, the hilt of a broken sword clutched in his hand. An Other appeared behind him, bearing down on its prey. The warrior hurled the fragment at it, catching it in the throat. The White Walker dragged the broken blade out its neck as it continued to advance.

Valerys's eyes slid to the dragon, grouched on the ground. "Blood and Bone." She said softly to it. The dragon loped off, back towards the glowing forge.

"Stark!" She cried, raising her voice. The warrior glanced at her and she threw Ice. Cromwell Stark snatched the sword out of the air and cleaved the Walker in two.

Valerys heard a growl next to her. She looked down and saw the black dragon, her swords clutched in its jaws. She drew both. Bone was a single-edge blade, slightly shorter than unwieldy for a single hand. It was a heavy sword, designed to put weight behind its swing. Blood was thinner, shorter, and double-edge with a point so fine it was almost invisible. Blood was made for slicing, Bone for breaking.

An inhuman cry cut through the sounds of battle as a flock of shapes took to the air. Fire sliced through the blizzard and slid along the ground. Valerys threw back her head and laughed as dragonfire roared around her.

"You Targaryen women are crazy." Stark said next to her.

Valerys laughed harder and attacked.

The weak light of dawn chased away the last of the White Walkers. Valerys joined the sun on the battlements. Warm blood dripped down her skin, cooling rapidly in the chill.

She heard a chirp and the black dragon clambered up onto the stone wall. It sat sentinel, gaze locked onto the rising sun. Valerys reached out and stroked it's triangular head. Battle tension drained from her body, leaving her slumped against the wall. The dragon trilled low in it's throat, looking down long enough to rub its head against her own. Valerys smiled and straightened.

"I did not realize that this sword was one of your own forgings," Stark rumbled behind her.

Valerys shrugged one shoulder, one hand drifting down to stroke Bone's hilt. "It is quite a weapon, is it not?"

"It is." Stark stepped up next to her and offered her the massive hilt. Valerys pushed it away.

"Keep the sword," She said.

"I cannot accept this."

"I forged it for a large warrior; it is too long for me to wield effectively. Keep it."

Stark considered it, dark eyes on her. Finally he slid the long blade back into the scabbard he had found somewhere. The sword slid home with a ring of finality. Valerys smiled.

"Does it have a name?" Stark asked, joining her as she studied the winter landscape.

"Ice," She replied.

"It is fitting," Stark said softly. Valerys heard the sorrow in his voice.

"We will reclaim Winterfell," She said, correctly guessing the reason. Stark looked at her like he wanted to believe her, but just couldn't find it within himself. The black dragon whistled shrilly, drawing his attention. He smiled slightly. Valerys turned back to the warming sun.

"Not even the Long Night can last forever."


End file.
